


Having Perhaps The Better Claim

by Requiem



Category: A Knight's Tale (2001)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:08:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25420651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Requiem/pseuds/Requiem
Summary: She should have left him be. Left him to his jousting and pretences at knighthood, to his impossible pursuit of an unattainable woman. But when she'd really looked at him, she'd seen nothing but utter sincerity and a desperate kind of determination, and—well, she'd always had a thing for men with stars in their eyes and a fire in their soul.
Relationships: Kate/William Thatcher
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28
Collections: Juletide 2020





	Having Perhaps The Better Claim

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ultra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ultra/gifts).



> Title from Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken".

Kate didn't believe in love at first sight, and indeed, when she'd first met Sir Ulrich von Liechtenstein of Gelderland, there wasn't much about him that had impressed her. Sure, he was good with a sword and knew what to do with a lance on horseback, but so did the multitudes of other arrogant noblemen who flocked to these events in search of fame and glory.

Then Kate had found Ulrich and his companions hiding away in the stables after the tournament, dancing, apparently. Trying to, at any rate, but the herald was doing a poor job of instruction, and the squire an even poorer job of following said instructions. And in the corner, the other squire looked to be sewing a tunic from scratch.

She'd paused, taken in the scene, decided the best course of action would be to keep her mouth shut and continue on her way—she'd seen other knights get up to far stranger things where they thought no one could see—but then, Ulrich had dropped the mask of irritated conceit he paraded before the other knights, and had asked her, awkwardly and haltingly, if she would teach him how to dance. He was like no knight she'd ever met before.

She should have left him be. Left him to his jousting and pretences at knighthood, to his impossible pursuit of an unattainable woman. But when she'd really looked at him, she'd seen nothing but utter sincerity and a desperate kind of determination, and—well, she'd always had a thing for men with stars in their eyes and a fire in their soul.

She knew the fire had taken her when all she could think about while lying awake in bed that night was Ulrich spending the evening with Lady Jocelyn. He'd been taken by a pretty face, as men were wont to do, but the ferocity of the envy that welled up in Kate surprised even her. She wasn't envious of Jocelyn's beauty or wealth or status, but of the idea that she had Ulrich's full attention and affections. It'd been a long while since Kate had been plagued by any such feelings.

There was one thing Kate knew she could offer that Jocelyn couldn't: in a trunk, carefully stored away from her usual materials and tools where it wouldn't be accidentally damaged, were pieces of jousting armour she'd been hoping to exhibit at the next trade fair. She had a better use for it now.

It took her most of the night, but using the measurements she'd taken for repairing Ulrich's old armour, she adjusted the new one to fit him, then presented him with it before he left in the morning.

He was skeptical—they all were—but when a test proved her right, he was quick to change his tune.

"What do you want for this?" he asked, looking down at his uninjured self in wonder.

"Take me with you," she said. "No need to harass other blacksmiths to make repairs on credit when you've got me."

"And what do you get out of it?"

Kate tapped on the breastplate. "Wear this. Win. The more people who see you, the better. For me and you. Simple, no?"

"I think I can do that."

"Well then, Sir Ulrich—"

"William. Thatcher."

She'd known, of course, that Ulrich was not who he'd claimed to be from the moment he'd approached her forge and handed over his ill-fitting armour, but she'd wondered how long he would keep up the ruse. "Well then, William Thatcher. I look forward to working with you."

They travelled with the tournament circuit to Lagny-sur-Marne where Will's new armour drew Kate no shortage of attention from the other blacksmiths and from the squires of knights clamouring to place an order. She was kept so busy that she missed the commotion in the lists; commotions, rather.

The first was Will knowingly riding against the Black Prince, which warranted little more than amusement in Kate's opinion; if he was foolhardy enough to impersonate a knight, he surely would have no qualms about facing off against royalty. The second, by far more interesting, was Will's falling out with Jocelyn. Not a week since they'd been head-over-heels besotted with each other, and already, it was over.

"I'm sorry," Kate said to Will, because it was the decent thing to do.

"It doesn't matter." He was holding his helmet in his hands, looking like he might throw it at the wall, but then he gently set it down on the wagon bed. "At least tell me you had a better day than I did. I made sure everyone saw the armour—they all laughed at first, but I showed them, didn't I?"

She'd heard the cheers and chanting even from here. "Yes, you did."

Will went on to be the champion of every tournament he entered, earning enough prize money for every one of them to return to England ten times over. Sir Ulrich gathered acclaim wherever he went, and Kate, riding on the coattails of his success, amassed enough orders to be set for life if she could only settle down somewhere with a proper forge. Paris, perhaps. A city large enough to keep her busy; London held too many painful memories to return to.

Then one night while on the road to Paris, only Kate was left awake, keeping watch while the others slept. Before she could rouse Will for his turn, he woke of his own accord.

"Do you believe in love at first sight?" he murmured, sitting down next to her by the embers of the dying fire.

"No, I think it's a load of rubbish," Kate said without hesitation. "Love's hard work; it needs to be earned."

"I think you may be right."

"What's brought this about?"

The Will that Kate had come to know was a firm believer in fairytale stories like peasants becoming knights, and falling in love at first sight.

"I may have rushed things with Jocelyn," he admitted.

"By breaking up with her like that, you mean?"

"No, I mean the whole thing. I saw her for the first time at Rouen, and then…I thought I was in love."

"And now you think differently?"

"Now I think I truly know what love feels like."

Will looked over, and Kate felt a queer sensation in her middle that she hadn't for a long time. "Tell me," she whispered.

"A few months ago, I met a woman," Will began. "She was smart, funny, a little prickly at first, but kind and generous once you got to know her. And talented. So talented. The things she could do put other masters of her trade to shame."

Grateful for the darkness so he couldn't see the blush flaming her cheeks, Kate asked, "What happened to this woman?"

"I've gotten to know her a little better these past few months. Time has not dimmed her virtues in my eyes. It's magnified them, if anything. I thought I could grow to love her."

"But you already had another. Jocelyn."

"Jocelyn." Will sighed heavily. "I really thought she might be the one. But for all she speaks of equality, despite how strongly she feels about justice or how generously she might give to the poor, she really doesn't understand what it's like to be one of them. She doesn't even know my real name, for heaven's sake. There's a gaping divide between us, and I don't think either of us can cross it. It's not at all like the stories."

Kate shifted to be a little closer to Will, and he remained perfectly still and let her rest her head on his shoulder. "Life's not a fairytale, Will," she told him. "We can't always get what we want. But if what you want is me…that's something I can grant you. As long as you understand that I won't settle for being a consolation prize. If you go running back to Jocelyn at first sight of her, it's over between us, do you understand?"

"You're not a consolation prize," Will said firmly. "You're the holy grail I've been searching for all along, right in front of me this whole time. A ray of sunshine after a long winter's night. A diamond in the rough."

Kate had thought his flowery declarations of love childish and overdone when they'd been meant for Jocelyn, but to hear them spoken just for her caused warmth to blossom in her chest.

-

She was there, in Paris: Jocelyn. Kate could see her in the stands, dressed to the nines with her hair impeccably styled.

Will didn't even look at her, only turned to Kate and asked, "Will you give me a token to wear?"

She ran her fingers over the maker's mark on his breastplate. "Haven't I already?"

"Aye, that you have." Will brought his hand up to hold hers against his chest.

Kate leaned in for a kiss and whispered against his lips, "Make me proud."

He always did.


End file.
